


Hogsmeade Weekend

by unseenbox



Series: Hogwarts Community Radio [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Broadcast Fic, Fake Episode, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseenbox/pseuds/unseenbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This week’s episode: a hag camps out at a bookstore; a boyfriend investigates the Shrieking Shack; a Gryffindor makes a terrible mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hogsmeade Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> This story's loosely riffed on "One Year Later".

Say the magic words. Hope you weren’t pointing your wand at something important. Welcome to Hogwarts.

Before we begin, we here at Hogwarts Community Radio would like to extend our heartfelt gratitude to the Wizarding Wireless Network for letting us borrow their facilities in Hogsmeade for the evening. We promise to leave everything in mostly the same shape it came in, barring a sudden and unstoppable transfiguration accident. Thank you, WWN, for your generosity, quality programming, and powerful, unsecured frequencies.

Our top story tonight is the ongoing situation at Tomes and Scrolls. Approximately three hours ago, a very lost and quite possibly drunk hag stumbled in. She then took up a seat on some shelving in the biography section, and has so far refused to leave her makeshift outpost, even after several offers of fire whiskey and the occasional complimentary Acid Pop. Whenever somebody approaches the section in question, the hag lets out a pained screech, causing many customers to drop their butterbeers on the merchandise, leading to lifetime bans. Customers are advised to avoid the bookshop until the situation is resolved. That is, unless they know a fantastic cure for warts, in which case they should report there immediately.

Listeners, we have just received word that it is not snowing at the Shrieking Shack. In fact, the grass, while dead and decaying, is very visible all around the perimeter of the local haunt. Carlos, one of Hogwarts’ most significant scholars and owner of one of its most significant haircuts, has decided to investigate the situation, and was last seen approaching the boundary of the snowline, wand in hand. I’m sure it’ll be fine, right? Yes. Definitely. And far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific inquiry. In fact, there is absolutely nothing to worry about! Even a little! Even though we had plans….

I apologize, listeners, as it occurs to me that this may not be the best time for a personal aside, not with the snow rapidly melting and forming a thick mud around one of our local landmarks. While rumors suggest that the ghastly howls that once emanated from the Shack have ceased, no one’s been entirely willing to test that theory, even though Ravenclaw is currently offering a five sickle reward for anyone willing to knock on the door and hang around for, like, five minutes. I should mention that Gryffindor is offering a similar reward to its house members, and clarify that knocking on the door once and then immediately bolting away doesn’t really count.

It’s with great joy that we announce that Assistant Levi has made an almost full and complete recovery. As you may know, he was critically injured during that puffskein infestation a few weeks ago. While his elbow will always seem slightly smaller than the proportions of his arm would indicate, it nevertheless has regained functioning. If all goes well, he should be back covering stories with us as soon as the hospital wing clears him for duty. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Assistant Lydia, who was injured during tonight’s altercation with the hag in the bookshop. Evidently, books are not appropriate shields for dark magic. Now, I know this may seem obvious to you at home, but hey, have you seen how heavy some of those books can be? Assistant Lydia is currently receiving de-jinxing treatments on the train from certified healers, while the hag remains firmly perched in the biography section. Local residents are baffled by the hag’s persistence, and also at the existence of a biography section. In fact, many of them claim they’ve never heard of such a thing. They go on to say that Tomes and Scrolls specializes mainly in geographical works and the occasional spellbook. More on this story as it develops.

And now, a look at the community calendar.

On Sunday: Honeydukes will be holding their annual pumpkin pasty sale. From six in the morning until three in the afternoon, anyone who stops in to purchase a pasty will receive a second one absolutely free. Lucky shoppers may also find various prizes hidden inside these pasties, all of them chosen entirely at random. In past years, these prizes have included exploding bonbons, Every-Flavor Beans, blood lollipops, and Lick'O'Rish Spiders.

On Monday: the wolfsbane in greenhouse seven is due to be rotated. As the leaves are highly toxic, only NEWT level students with supervision from Professor Sprout are permitted to assist. If anyone below seventh year would like to volunteer, please bring your own gloves, as they will not be provided. Rubber ones are acceptable. Fireproof ones are highly preferred.

On Tuesday: Ravenclaw will be sponsoring a study session for OWLs in the library at approximately four in the afternoon. Attendance is not mandatory, but strongly encouraged, as these tests determine your entire future, and getting a single poor grade will lead to nothing but misery and shame for years unending. Anthony Goldstein, fifth year prefect, then burst into tears, which could not be stopped for several minutes.

Once again, study session on Tuesday.

On Wednesday: an entirely unscheduled Exploding Snap tournament will begin in the Great Hall during breakfast. Please steer clear of the middle sections of the tables along the windows. That is, unless you prefer burnt eyebrows alongside your oatmeal. Which, don’t get me wrong, it’s entirely possible some of us do; I’m not gonna knock them. Rumors suggest that the winner of the tournament, which is absolutely not scheduled to run just long enough to ensure that everyone involved will be exactly five minutes late to class, will receive several knuts, one galleon, and fleeting, momentary glory. I repeat, this tournament is completely unscheduled. I cannot emphasize that enough.

On Thursday: several ghosts will block one of the stairwells for much of the day. They say they need the space to sit, relax, and contemplate their sole remaining ties to the mortal plane. Students are urged to seek alternate routes, or, failing that, to simply wait a few moments for the stairs to change again. “Either or, we’re not picky,” say the ghosts.

On Friday: the first official viewing of the Swakloks, those five foot tall bipedal birds that live near the lake and make loud, inappropriate noises past midnight, is scheduled. While Ravenclaw Tower does provide the best line of sight for the event, the Astronomy Tower is also willing to provide seating for interested parties. Tickets are still available, and can be purchased from Luna Lovegood for the extremely low, very reasonable price of nothing.

On Saturday: Pamela Winchell, head of the Student Ministry Association, will be hosting a debate in classroom 5B. This week’s topic: the existence vs. the nonexistence of mummies. Although she added, “When I find out who keeps scheduling us on Saturdays, I’m gonna turn them into bugs and squish them. Squish them _so hard_. _Just you watch me._ ”

This has been your community calendar.

Reports are coming in that the hag at the bookshop has vacated the premises, ending her over three hour vigil in the biography section. Witnesses say that Old Woman Josie, the one who lives at the end of the lane with the ghosts that emphatically don’t exist, offered the hag one of her world famous treacle muffins. Evidently, these muffins did the trick, containing acceptable amounts of butter, salt, and acesulfame, as the hag scarfed down approximately half a dozen of them before vanishing in a puff of scarlet flame and crumbs. Cleanup efforts are set to begin shortly. Heavily discounted butterbeer is rumored to be provided to anyone willing to lend a hand and pitch in.

Okay, so that’s one crisis over. Crisis number two, however, is still going strong. Snow continues to not fall in a ten yard radius surrounding the Shrieking Shack. The usually hidden boarded windows and patches in the roof are visible for the first time in decades. More important than that crisis, though, is the fact that Carlos, my brave, wonderful Carlos, hasn’t come back in… I don’t know, how many minutes has it been? Lots, right? I’m gonna go with lots. I kinda figured by the time I got done with the other stories I had to cover, you know, that hag thing and the calendar, he’d be back, but... I guess I was wrong. Hopefully, he reports back with more information soon. Very soon. Like, now would be good? Maybe? Annnnd now. No?

...You know what, let’s-- how about we take a break, and hear a word from our sponsors! Sound good? Great, because we’re doing it!

You want change. Great, heaping fistfuls of change. So much change it spills out over your hands, clinking to the ground below, pooling at your feet. Your shoes, the nice ones, are completely buried in the change. Still it falls, and though you try to lift yourself out, it is far too late. The change has reached your ankles, and it refuses to let you go. The change has you trapped. The change cannot be stopped. The change cannot be negotiated with. The change is coming. The change is _here_ , and all too soon, it will submerge you.

This message brought to you by the Hog’s Head.

Oh! Well now, listeners! A sizable crowd, keeping a safe distance in case of earsplitting howls and screaming, of course, has gathered around the Shrieking Shack. Carlos, easily spotted by his beautiful, perfect hair and his beautiful, perfect face, was seen standing in front of them, arms outstretched in his oversized, scientific looking robes. He said he figured out what’s causing this catastrophe. He then urged everyone to _return to their homes_ , claiming that he could handle the problem on his own. When Niles Hanley, third year Slytherin, shouted for him to get to the point and tell them what was happening already, Carlos replied that this was all a huge misunderstanding, and the current residents mean no harm.

The crowd let out a gasp and went still, their faces frozen in a tableau of shock. Carlos said, “Oh.” He ran a hand through his perfect hair during the stunned silence that fell over the audience and added, “Yeah, some vampires live here now.” Judging from the roar that soon shook through them, most probably heard nothing past the word “vampires”. As the townsfolk frantically began searching for their wands, Carlos raised his hands and shouted for quiet, saying, “ _Citizens!_ Listen to me! We can’t let decades of superstition stand in the way of understanding and knowledge!” At this point, Teddy Williams, head of the local militia and owner of the Brews and Stews Cafe, answered back with, “Oh yeah? You gonna try an’ stop us?!”, to equal parts ecstatic cheering and uncomfortable shifting. And then--

And then-- this can’t be right. Someone’s just-- they’re just making things up now, aren’t they? Ha ha, joke’s on me. Good one, guys! You really got ole’ Cecil going! I mean, this has got to be a joke or prank or _something _, right? How could-- _why_ would anyone--? _Apparently_ , Carlos got struck in the...in the gut by a freezing charm. It stopped him mid-sentence, a look of mild surprise etched on his face. His wand still gripped loosely in hand. The crowd whipped around, and there was Mike Ogbourne, sixth year Gryffindor, with a sharp, plastic smirk on his face. The crowd began to shake their heads, as if clearing away a great, yawning fog. Some of them went straight home. Most, including Teddy Williams, hung around for a few more moments. They glanced uncertainly from Mike to Carlos to the Shack until the spell broke over them, too, and they slunk away like the others. Mike trailed after, kicking at snow that wasn’t there….__

___They left him there._ Just. Walked away. Like it was _nothing_. Shame on them. Eternal. Unending. Unceasing. Shame. Especially on _you_ , _Mike Ogbourne_. Mike Ogbourne, who is five feet, eleven inches tall; scrawny except for his gigantic, misshapen arms; and whose owl is named Samson. Again: Mike Ogbourne. Sixth Year Gryffindor. Owl named Samson._ _

__But Carlos-- my poor Carlos-- is still somewhere out there-- Cold. Immobile. Alone. And I’m still here, safe and warm. But close. Close enough to…. But we’re borrowing this station. I need to remain professional. I need to keep… I need to keep working and…. And I-- I can’t do this. I’m sorry, listeners, I have to go-- I have to bring him back… I have to bring him home. Uh, we take you now to the weather._ _

__(The Weather:[However Far Away, by the Ministry of Magic](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsADZmgOj3c))_ _

__Fantastic, wonderful, _perfect_ news, everyone! Turns out the vampires found him. Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But Cecil, how can that possibly be a good thing? Like, didn’t they feast on his blood and corrupt his will?”, to which I say, that’s a little personal, isn’t it? Not to mention deeply prejudiced towards our living dead brothers and sisters. But, as I rushed towards the hill and left my journalistic integrity behind -- for which I deeply and sincerely apologize -- all I could picture was Carlos, stuck shin deep in mud-- or worse, pushed over into it. So, you know, imagine my surprise when I finally get there, and all I see are pine trees and a busted fence and, I don’t know, some shrubs or something. But no Carlos. A void, open and endless, where he should have been._ _

__One of the vampires, wearing a hooded cloak, walked up to me and looked at the nothing I saw. “Oh, him?” he asked, his angular face contorted with puzzlement. And I said, “Yeah, him!”, only it came out all rushed and scrambled. But then he smiled, the tips of his fangs clearly visible, and said, “He’s up at the house. Do you wanna come in for a bite?”_ _

__Listeners, how could say no to that? Four of them lived there, in that small, dilapidated shack. All of them very friendly, and with a reassuring quantity of blood pops strewn about their abode. They cited low, practically non-existent rent as their impetus for moving here to Hogsmeade, as well as the fact that since this place was clearly, **clearly** haunted, no one would come over and bother them much. The leader of the group also took responsibility for the lack of snow, saying they cast some highly advanced shielding charms earlier and didn't expect such a fuss._ _

__But best and most importantly of all, Carlos was there. He sat on a lumpy couch with his hair almost acceptably disheveled, his shoulders slumped and low, and his hands pressed together in his lap. In my daze, I bumped into a long abandoned end table as I crossed into the room. He looked up and saw me, and in that one, brief, endless moment, everything went still. The crickets ceased chirping. The flurries outside the window softly froze in place. The floor refused to creak. The walls neglected to moan. My heart’s speedy, unsteady thumping filled my ears, overly loud in the sudden quiet._ _

__And then Carlos… he sighed, smiling softly. Just like that, the moment passed and burst apart. “I was waiting for you,” he said, his voice golden and hushed._ _

__“Oh?” I said, more of a happy, disbelieving exhale than an actual word. When he looked away, flushed and apparently fascinated by some peeling wallpaper, I said, “Well, here I am now!”, the words tumbling over themselves in their rush to be spoken, which Carlos was lovely enough to not draw too much attention to. I stepped over to the couch with clumsy, heavy feet. Carlos pulled me down by the hand, gently, to sit with him. We stayed like that for awhile. My hand, clammy and cold, safely enclosed in his, dark and warm. Eventually, the vampires told us to leave, saying it was getting _awfully late_ while pointedly glancing at the sole working clock. We walked back to the radio station with a woolen scarf shared between us, snowflakes plastered to our shoulders, his hand still squeezing mine._ _

__All of us are traveling on an insignificant mote of dust through a vast, all encompassing void together. And, just like our fleeting, fragile planet, it’s the tiniest things that pierce through our emptiness and isolation and allow love to bloom between us. Small acts of kindness and care, whether from a complete stranger or someone we’ve known our entire lives, are enough to throw our lives into the most joyous, wondrous chaos. Take a moment, and spread some chaos to both people you love and people you haven’t met._ _

__Stay tuned next for: the rhythmic hooting of barn owls. Good night, Hogwarts. Good night._ _


End file.
